And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love - you make...

In 2006, the doctors said he had a year to live.

A year.

I knew immediately that I wanted to help the final days of this man's life to be filled with the kind of peace and love and care that only proximity can bring.

This man. My mother's husband.

My step-dad.

He never changed my diapers or picked me up from grade school - I didn’t yet know him in those early years. But he was there when I got my braces, when I got my driver’s license, and when I gave birth to my children.

So when he got sick, I moved my little family (back then it was just me and my three sweet boys) into a teeny tiny (600 sq. ft.) beach cottage within yelling distance of my parents.

We wanted to make this last year great. Filled with love and memory-making and as easy as possible for everyone.

That was ten years ago.

He passed away this past April. That means we got nine “bonus” years. Years filled with surgeries for him, special trips together for all of us, many "this is it - cancel everything" moments for me and even the birth of my sweet daughter - his granddaughter (who got to know and be loved by him for 6 memory worthy years).

After ten years of living next to and taking care of my step-dad, this April I sat at home by his side, along with my mom while he breathed his last breath.

What a day. I’m still in awe. His passing was, like him - equal parts exciting, real, beautiful and steady.

It was life-affirming, mysterious and wildly honoring for me to be a part of it.

There are people we get in this life as our bloodline, there are people we choose as family and for many of us there are friends who feel like family.

And then there are the family members that others bring into our lives. People that we don't choose for ourselves. The “step” family members. Even that title suggests the way that we sometimes hold them a bit apart, not immediately welcome into our lives. But if they are willing to give it their whole heart and we are willing to give them a chance, they can change our lives for the better forever.

I'm so grateful that I let him into my life and heart when he married my mom all those years ago - to my children he has always simply been “grandpa” - no step, no qualifiers, no explanations needed. And I'm grateful for all the bonus years I got to have as I helped care for him.

His passing taught me so many things or maybe just allowed me to experience so many things. Maybe I didn’t learn anything at all - and that’s ok. We don’t always need to be learning, doing, growing. Sometimes we just need to be. And for me - witnessing, holding space, loving - these are some of my most authentic ways of being.

I wanted to share the death of my stepdad with you for so many reasons. So many of you have revealed your hearts, your stories, your lives, and your oh-so-beautiful selves to me in our sessions - this is what makes our work together so magical. These moments of connection also compel me to share some of the stories and moments that make up the tapestry of my own life with you. Thank you for being here, for listening and seeing me.

And maybe some of you are going through your own challenging time: a season when you are caring for a sick loved one, or maybe you are caring for yourself through short or long-term illness, and maybe you’re doing it while also running a heart-centered business and working on a partnership, and tending children, and fostering your relationship with yourself. Or some version of the maxed-out-stretched-to-your-limit-same.

Maybe some days you too have thought you may not be able to hold it all — do it all, no matter how much you want to, no matter how much you love all that's on your very full plate. Capacity is real. This shit can be hard! Especially when a chapter turns into a book.

I don't have any easy fixes or simple answers for you, but I can tell you this — you're not alone. I see you and you are beautiful and even the longest chapters do come to an end.

And also I want to share this story with you because to me, much like birth stories (and love stories and heartbreak stories and even business stories and family stories and all the important stories of our lives), death is real and beautiful and worthy of documenting.

To document and speak the heart-breaking + life-altering as well as the celebratory and transitional moments aloud with words and visuals into the universe is powerful and healing.

Sending you much love and many blessings,

Danielle